Gone
by Rattersley
Summary: Hannibal dies in a mission gone terribly wrong. The three survivors each look back on the moment the team fatally broke down. Bad summary, I know! Hopefully part of a series. All crits/reviews welcome, it's my first serious fic.
1. Gone

_Disclaimer - I don't own any of these characters, thank god._

_Author's note: I'm thinking of writing a short series of these, if this goes down well… maybe. I'm not overjoyed with this one, but I'm fed up of looking at it so up it goes…_

Templeton 'Faceman' Peck

"And that, my friends-" I purred into the radio, "-is done! Hate to steal your line, boss, but I love it when a plan comes together!" I heard Murdock and BA laugh, and I grinned to myself. "Guess I'll be meeting you back at the van-"

"Murdock!" BA snarled. "You almost got be killed foo'! Again!"

"Hey, Big Guy, don't get all snappy at me! We had goons all over us up here. Ain't that right, Hannibal?"

I grabbed the suitcase of recovered money and strode towards the door of the abandoned office block. I felt good, we'd done pretty well, considering it was one of my high-risk gambits and not one of Hannibal's well-plotted methodological executions. In fact, I was hardly listening to the radio chatter of my team-mates at all. I was too busy thinking of how hungry I was. That always played on my mind. I was too busy thinking about dinner I didn't even spare a thought for my men.

"Hannibal?" Murdock's tone made me pause. I knew he was on the top floor along with Hannibal, and BA the one below it, dealing with the meatheads who were trying to break in after landing on the roof. I put my hand to my earpiece. "Hannibal, you hurt?"

"Go find him!" BA growled. I could hear Murdock's footsteps over the radio. I knew it was pitch black up there.

"Hann- Oh my God. Hannibal."

I knew, I knew in that moment, that something had gone terribly wrong. My blood ran cold. What a clichéd phrase, right? It's true. At those words, hearing Murdock's tone of voice, I knew the world had changed, forever. It felt like someone had drenched me in ice water to wake me from a dream - I was running towards the stairs, though I seemed to be moving in slow motion.

"Oh Jesus Christ" Murdock's voice wavered.

"What's happening?" BA's voice now, coming over three radios - they were together, all three of them. "Do some CPR! Oh, God, Boss!"

"BA no! Stop, man! Bosco! There's nothing you can do! Bosco, get up! He's-"

'Don't say dead, don't say dead, don't say dead' my mind pleaded. I knew it was true already.

"He's dead."

"NO!" BA's roar was nothing but pain, and at that moment I reached the top floor, and froze. In front of me, not twenty feet away, I saw. I saw BA kneed on the floor, I saw Murdock standing behind him, shaking, holding his hat in his hand, the other hand run into his hair. I saw… I saw Hannibal. I knew instantly what had happened to him. His neck was broken. While he had waited as a sentry while I carried out my deals below, while he protected me, some coward had crept up on him, and ended him.

"No." I choked. "No." It wasn't right, he didn't deserve to go out like this, not our intelligent, strong, funny leader. This wasn't the death meant for him. It wasn't right, wasn't fair.

"There must be something…" BA's voice cracked.

"No." I had fallen to my knees, staring helplessly at my broken team. "No."

We must have been there for an hour, at least. Hardly moving. It was Murdock who broke the silence. He glanced around, straining to listen to a sound. An aircraft. He listened until it passed, letting out a sigh. "Guys, we can't stay here."

A few more minutes passed.

"What do we do?" I asked helplessly. The tears that had been building behind my eyes fell down my cheeks silently. "What do we do now?"

"We can't stay." Murdock spoke quietly. "There's a chopper on the roof, and our van outside, and this place is usually abandoned. If someone notices, we might get some cops or something come check this place out." I noticed a dribble of dried blood across his lip, a huge purple bruise spread across his jaw, and I felt the first stab of guilt. It was my plan. My plan had done this, my plan had resulted in our Colonel's death, my plan had made that man die, so pointlessly, for such a small gain. The first stab of guilt that would last the rest of my life.

"Okay." I stood up, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeve. "What are we going to do? Are we going to fly? Or drive?"

"I ain't up for flying." Murdock shrugged. BA glared at him over his shoulder. "It's some Chinese make, I don't know how." It was an obvious lie. Murdock dropped his gaze, knowing he wasn't fooling anyone, but probably not caring.

"I'll drive." BA stood up, and then carefully lifted Hannibal's body.

"You're…" I started, trailing off, cringing at the sight and turning away.

"I'm not leaving him here. Not in this place." BA's voice was firm.

"Okay." I said weakly, following the others to the stairs.

That night was easily the worst of my life. I took the others back to mine, and we silently made the decision to leave Hannibal's body in the van. We hardly talked, Murdock cooked but nobody ate, sitting at my little table. I was painfully aware of the space for four people, one chair empty. In the sink there were four plates left over from breakfast, one half-finished mug of coffee I knew was Hannibal's. Everything felt like a kick in the gut, every little memory that this morning, he had been here, but from now on, never again.

Murdock's mouth injury had caused him to lose a tooth, and he spent half hour in the bathroom fixing himself up as best he could, cleaning up the blood splattered down his face. Normally I would have helped him, normally I'd be holding his hat and laughing with him while he swore at his bloody nose or black eye or whatever else. I kind of regret not helping out - it was my last chance to, ever, and I didn't take it.

"We gotta…" BA started when Murdock got back. "We gotta… get… rid… of…"

"Yeah." Murdock cut in, thank god. "Yeah, we have."

"Best to do it at night." BA cracked a knuckle loudly.

"Tonight." I said flatly. There was no way we were going to sleep, and no point in waiting until we got caught with the body of John 'Hannibal' Smith in our possession.

"We drive out-" BA took a deep breath mid-sentence. "- and we bury him in the desert."

"Yeah."

I can't talk about the rest of that night. I can't bring myself to think of it, knowing my plan killed him, my plan broke apart the A-Team, took away the one we all trusted no matter what. The other boys, they never said they blamed me, and for that I'm so grateful. But I know. I know deep down they must remember it was me who told Hannibal to wait there, it was me who told him how we were going to complete our mission. It was me who left him to die in such a horrible place. The guilt fills me, consumes me, leaves me with nothing and feeling as dead as the man I killed.


	2. 1 Year Later

One Year Later

H. M 'Howlin Mad' Murdock

I'm not sure if I got caught by accident, or if I let myself get caught, but I guess the end result is the same anyway. Of course, I expected to go back to the VA, I figured once they reckon a guy's out to lunch then he's not coming back. I was wrong. Lynch pressed and pressed to have me retried, and now I'm here, some stockade in God-don't-care, Europe-somewhere. Life took a bit of a turn for the worst without old Hannibal looking out for us. Without the brains of the operation, and without the good looks too, I knew we were done for. BA don't want me hanging around like a bad smell, so I took the initiative and booked myself in for a nice life-long vacation behind bars.

BA hasn't come to see me, and I don't think he will. He never was one for disguises. Still, I wouldn't mind a letter now and then. Maybe he's still mad at me for what happened when Hannibal died. I knew the boss was dead the moment I shone my torch on him. Bosco didn't want to believe it. I lost a tooth that day - first thing they did when I got here was fix me a new one. I'm kinda glad they did - I think about Hannibal every day, but when my tongue touched that gap I remembered what else died that day and it would wake me up at night and leave me cold and I guess it's what pushed me to leave BA by himself.

Faceman left me a letter. It's a nice long one, three pages. He blamed himself. He thought I blamed him too. He uses the word 'sorry' fourteen times in that letter, yet never once says sorry for what he did after sending it. Of course, I didn't blame him at all. We all felt guilty about what happened - it was Face's plan, it happened not twenty foot away from me, BA didn't handle it too well - but I don't think we ever blamed each other. I certainly never did. If only Faceman had spoken to me - if only he'd asked me how I felt, maybe I could have told him we're all in this together, the only way we're going to get through this is to forget the guilt and the shame and just remember we chose that life, we lived for so long on the knife-edge and one day we bled from it.

I keep that letter in my pillowcase. I tell myself when I get a letter from Bosco, I'll keep that there too. Then, along with a signed photo of movie star 'John Smith', I'll have a little bit of each of them. Kinda. But he won't write, he don't wanna see me again, and I'm starting to get used to that.

I'm getting on okay myself. I get two hours of exercise a day in the yard and one hour of social time, but there's always a lot of time by myself. The wardens here are alright - stricter, much stricter than in the VA - no singing in the shower, no talking to Billy in front of them, no computer games in my cell - but it's a living. The other prisoners tend to leave me be; I guess word got round I was one of Hannibal Smith's men. As far as Lynch knows, he's still out there somewhere. Coming up with some great plan to bust me out when he next needs me. Sometimes it's easy to believe he's still alive, I'm careful not to let anything slip when I'm questioned. I don't know where he is. I don't know what he's planning. I don't know where Templeton Peck is. Course, I do really. One's in the Arizona desert and the other probably is too, nobody knows for sure. It's when they ask about BA thinks get hairy. That's because I'm telling the truth - I really don't know where he is, it's honestly true, and no amount of interrogation can ever get any of us any closer to the truth.

After Hannibal died, Faceman, Bosco and me spent about a month together, then Face left us, telling us he needed some time to 'clear his head' (oh boy he sure cleared it alright). BA hardly spoke to me after that. You know, we never really saw eye to eye, and I guess he felt the team was finished the day our boss died. What use was I to him, a pilot to a man scared of flying? He never got the 'mad' thing either. We were over. The next month or so, he barely said a word to me, and I can take a hint. So long, Sucker. Whatever.

I guess I'll never see him again. I wonder sometimes if he's gone the same way as the others, maybe they're all together somewhere just waiting for me to join them. For now, I'm going to make 'em wait. You're dead forever, why not enjoy what little life I have left? I still have good things here. They serve ice-cream on Fridays at the cafeteria, I'm most of the way through a chess game with an old CIA whistle-blower, and someone's gotta look after Billy. I wouldn't say I'm happy, but it's an acceptable retirement.

I wish BA would find some way to talk to me, though, if he's still around. I know we weren't always the best of buddies, but things are different now. Even if he didn't want me to stick around, I wish he'd get me a message, let me know he's alright. Sometimes I dream he'll come break me out, just like old times, but I know it won't ever happen. Maybe he's found someone out there, maybe he's well shot of me. Whatever. I can just lay back on my bunk and say my adventures are over now. They were bloody good, but they're done, they ain't coming back, and it's just me, myself and I from now on.


	3. 2 Years Later

Two Years Later.

B. A Baracus

When me and Murdock both received letters from Face, I knew what it meant. I was prepared for it. He weren't happy, and weren't going to be until he found peace, until he'd taken Hannibal's gun and done what he thought needed doing out there in the desert. I wish I'd done something, but Hannibal's death was so raw I could hardly feel a thing anymore. It opened up the old wounds, but I was numb. Just two months after we lost Hannibal, Faceman killed himself. He'd left us not one month after losing Hannibal, none of us had really spoken to the others about how we were feeling, and he said he needed time alone. I never saw him again.

Something I always regretted was Murdock, how I dealt with him. In my shock, and pain, that night when I was trying to revive our boss, Murdock had tried to pull me off. I'd hit him. Square in the jaw, that familiar sensation of fist on bone against that familiar face… It kept me awake at night, his shocked expression, wide eyed, the blood dripping from his lips, that bruise, the missing tooth. He never told Faceman that was me, sneaking off to clean himself up without Face's normal assistance, and for that I will always be grateful. But it tore me and him apart. How could I ever look him in the eyes again, knowing how I had betrayed him when he needed me most of all?

He probably sees me as some kind of animal. That's how I always felt around him. That's why I can't bring myself to write to him or go see him. What if I went all the way to the German prison he's kept in, Mannheim, and he just refuses to see me? What if I write and he just tears it up without even reading it? He has a right to, I don't deserve his time any more.

Two months after Hannibal died, and one month after Face left us those letters telling us he was done, Murdock wandered off. We'd been staying at Face's old place, just me and Murdock, hardly speaking. I couldn't talk to him, and when he tried to speak to me I would snap at him, not through choice, just because I couldn't bear to hear him trying to make things normal. No, no curry, Murdock. No toast points. No driving. I hope he knows I was grieving, grieving and ashamed, and if we'd stuck it out a bit longer we could have been ok.

He left one morning - he just never came downstairs from the room he slept in, and when I eventually went to check on him he was gone, no note, nothing taken, just gone. Four days later, I saw a news report stating he'd been captured at an airport. Fresno Yosemite in California. I don't know if he got caught on purpose. Maybe he wanted to go back to the VA. All I know is, he ended up being tried as a sane man, I can only imagine on Lynch's orders, found guilty, and sentenced to life.

So, no plans. No scamming. No flying. Seems like the A-Team is well and truly through. Doesn't stop me dreaming, though. I've made a little plan of my own. I can't tell you too much, but it's one final mission. I can't plan as well as Hannibal, but I've given it my best shot on my own, and I'm getting better at scamming things. I ain't flying, I ain't ever doing that. But I know someone who can.

My plan is, I'll scam something with wings. Somehow. Or maybe scam the money to buy one, or get hold of one somehow, the details aren't important. Then, I'll break out Murdock. That's the tricky part, but we always managed it before. Then, I pray he forgives me. I pray he chooses to come with me, once I've told him how sorry I am. I told you, it's a dream, it'll probably never happen. Then, I get him to the plane, and we leave. Yeah, we fly, I can't think of any other way of doing it. But then me and him, we can go somewhere, anywhere, somewhere nobody has ever heard of us, maybe even were there ain't nobody else, and the A-Team can live out the rest of their days in peace, together. That's worth facing my fears for.

It'll probably never happen. Murdock probably don't even want to be broken out. Maybe one day though, when I haven't got anything else to live for any more, I'll try it out. Maybe, then, we can start to move on, together.


End file.
